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13 A Miracle O n a mid-January night in 1945, an earsplitting rumble of bomber planes broke the long silence and made the darkness tremble. We lifted our heads from our bunk planks and whispered, “Could it be?” In a few seconds, flares, brighter than a summer’s day, lit up the sky. Violent explosions shook the earth relentlessly. Mesmerized and in total disbelief we murmured, “Allies? After all these years?” When the bombardment would momentarily pause, the silence—morbid as death— filled us with dread. “Don’t leave. Please, please don’t leave. I will not mind dying,” we prayed in chorus. It may sound strange, but in the death camps, the prospect of being blown up by Allied bombs was the only happiness we could hope for. Such a death would be merciful. Such a death would be our victory over Nazi gas chambers. The detonations continued for hours and we began to imagine the unimaginable. As if in a dream, we peered around the doors. No guards were in sight. We shuffled out of the barracks, one at a time. We crouched forward and muttered, “Be careful. The Germans might be hiding in corners. Who knows where the demons are?” Mama, Fredka, and I stole across the camp to Max and David’s barrack to seek protection and guidance. We located seats in a corner and hoped that if we sat quietly and Liberation 86 proved not to be any trouble to them, my cousins would let us leave with them if the improbable happened and we were liberated. We knew they would see us as burdens on the snow-covered roads with people unfriendly to Jews. Unlike the three of us, my cousins remained in fair physical shape and had warm clothes, leather shoes, and some money. Mama, Fredka, and I were walking skeletons without proper footwear. We had no place to return to, no home. Warsaw was no more. We sat silent and spellbound, teetering between fear of annihilation and euphoric hope of liberation, and listened as aerial bombardments gave way to ground artillery thudding from a distance, then ever closer toward the camp. We wondered, “Is it possible the Russian troops are near our gate?” The young men discussed at what point they should risk sending scouts to check the gate and possibly beyond. “Who should go?” they asked. Everyone volunteered. Careful not to act in haste, they questioned, “What if the Germans come back and punish us for going past the gate? Could this be a ruse, a trap the Germans are setting up for us?” It was impossible to grasp what was happening. As the air raids let up, and the barrage of artillery drew closer, the men grew bolder. They sent scouts as far as the gate. They returned swiftly and reported, “The gate is open. There are no guards at the gate!” The scouts continued to explore past the gate into the no-man’s-land encircling the camp. All proved positive. The German guards were gone. When the first tinges of gray dawn began to lift, the scouts reported that people were leaving the camp. With lightning speed, the men in my cousins’ barrack organized themselves into groups based on their areas of origin. Max and David told us they were leaving without us. They were heading for Działoszyce, their hometown, to see if they could recover anything of their past lives. “Follow us there,” they said. “We will wait for you.” They bid us good-bye, and suddenly, in a flash, they were gone. We were stunned. What to do? Where to go? We left the barracks and joined the milling crowd of starved, agitated people who were as confused and scared as we. We had nothing to take with us. We had only to summon our strength, push one foot in front of the other into an unfamiliar landscape outside the gate, and hope to find salvation down the road. “We must run! The Germans may return ,” we urged each other forward. Our legs and breath disobeyed. Like three apparitions, we followed the fleeing crowd of people who looked like their own marching shadows. We passed through the gate. Outside we saw no signs of habitation . My breath was shallow with suspense. My mind cautiously scanned, absorbed, and hoped. Not a bud of life sang out. Before us was only a desolate snow-covered field. [3.135.209.249] Project MUSE (2024-04-19...

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